Laceration
by Bayfire
Summary: My take on how Bruce would handle Rachel's funeral: Her face was growing dimmer as his memory of her faltered. He knew that he couldn't hold onto her forever, but he found that he couldn't let her go easily.


**Laceration:**

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**Disclaimer:**

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"Rachel Dawes, Assistant D.A., and loyal contributor to our city, was an incredible woman. She dedicated her life to trying to improve this city, and in the end gave it up for her cause. Her whole life is a great and ideal image of what every Gotham citizen should be. Her memory will remain with all of us who stand to build this city up. Her bravery was rare, as was her loyalty and determination. Her example is beautiful and is a reminder of what greatness she possessed. She set an illustration of faithfulness through her idealism, courage, and sacrifice…"

Gordon was giving his speech, and Bruce really appreciated that the Commissioner was taking time to do this. Speaking his words and most of the things Bruce wished he could say. Bruce sat in the midst of a small gathering in the courtyard garden of an old Gothamites mansion wishing he could express his grief… if only people weren't there. Alfred sat next to Bruce solemnly, and stiffly. They both missed her. He gazed at the empty and glossy black coffin with the white lilies and pink snapdragons formed into a bouquet over it. The columns were decorated with the same arrangements in the courtyard and blossoms from a cherry tree wafted through the air. Bruce could see Mrs. Dawes, Rachel's mother, silently crying her eyes out in the front.

'_Did I bring this on her?'_ Bruce thought, guilt crushing him along with grief and pain. Gordon closed his speech and so ended the ceremony. Everyone began to clear the courtyard after walking to Rachel's coffin for a last goodbye. Only closer friends of Rachel attended, and many were surprised to see the billionaire there, but didn't speak with him. The congregation of people clad in black grew smaller and smaller. Bruce wanted to say his finale good bye as well with the absence of people, even Alfred. Alfred murmured his last words to the empty coffin that should have held Rachel, and left the courtyard with the rest of the people, with pain etched in his features. Bruce stood looking at the case, hands in his pockets, believing he was truly alone.

"Bruce." He heard his named and turned to see Mrs. Dawes with a sad smile on her face.

"Mrs. Dawes." Bruce nodded to the woman. Her expression grew more saddened and she seemed to notice something when he turned to face her, and approached him solemnly. She gently put her hand to his face and wiped something wet away. Bruce realized then that he had let his pain slip through his mask.

"You loved her." Mrs. Dawes stated, and all Bruce could do was look to the ground with a hard expression. He desperately wished he could pull himself back together. "She thought the same of you."

The woman put a hand on his arm, and hugged him. This was the last thing he expected her to do. If she knew what he was; what he became at night, she wouldn't treat him so. But he felt the hug was welcoming, and found himself returning the embrace. Bruce couldn't help but find that he desperately needed the warmth and strength they fed each other in that moment. The cold nights as Batman had drained the spirit from him, and he clung to the comfort of her presence in the sanctuary of her condoling arms. Bruce then stood back, and Mrs. Dawes stood gazing at her daughter's case. They stood there a few moments before she spoke.

"You're still the same boy. No matter what the public says about you, you're, to me, a good kid." She smiled weakly again and Bruce did the same.

"I wish I could've done something." Bruce whispered, and looked away from her face. Mrs. Dawes raised her eyebrows with a pained expression.

"It was out of your hands dear. There was nothing you could've done to stop that explosion. The Batman couldn't even save her." She spoke, and Bruce grimaced slightly. She stood near Rachel's coffin and looked ready to sob, but only let her eyes moisten a bit. She put a black gloved hand on the case as her lower lip trembled. "Good bye my daughter, my angel."

She whispered so Bruce could barely hear what was said. She began to walk away, out of the courtyard. Bruce found that he couldn't just let her become a stranger to him again. She was once piece that was connected to_ her_, and he wanted to cling desperately to that connection.

"You can visit Wayne Manor whenever you please." Bruce said and she turned around, a faint smile on her face. _'Rachel looks so much like her…'_

"I'd like that." She replied and wiped her eye and sniffled. She saw that he lingered near the coffin and she seemed to understand. She nodded and left his presence. Once he was truly alone, Bruce walked over to the nonexistent remains of the one he loved hidden behind the black case.

"I'm sorry Rachel." Bruce began and swallowed. "I let you down. Harvey is dead because of me. You died because of me. I let madness fall on you and on the city. I should've stopped being Batman long ago, but I felt there was more to do for this city. I still believe there is work to do, but you were going to wait for me anyway, but now… I'll never know."

Bruce laid a hand on her coffin. He exhaled shakily as the memories of her came racing back to him. Her voice would never speak again; even now the memory of her laughter was fading. She would never be able to be there with him, standing next to him as a source of strength, and her eyes would never see the light of the world again. Her face was growing dimmer as his memory of her faltered. He knew that he couldn't hold onto her forever, but he found that he couldn't let her go easily. He hesitated before saying final words that would make him face the reality that she was not coming back. He took in a breath, and closed his eyes as the gentle breeze picked up, and dried his damp eyes.

"Good bye Rachel." Bruce allowed only a few tears to fall freely as he left the coffin in silent pain. He returned to the company of people and kept his grief masked behind the wall of his playboy persona. The tears would never fall again. Not before strangers, not before Alfred, no one. No one but Rachel, his first love, whom he would see no more.

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**A/N:**I wrote this, because I have a lovely thing called a writers block. This is my first attempt at doing a completely serious and sad piece. I had this written a couple months ago, and I figured I should share it with some readers. I hope that it meets your expectations, and is acceptable enough for your taste. I hoped you enjoyed it, and if not please don't hesitate to tell me what is bothering you about it. Thank you for reading this!


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